Tail’s Curse Chapter 19

He was the very loan shark who had coldly demanded repayment right after she killed the man who had tried to assault her.  

 

Am I dreaming? 

 

Rubbing my eyes dumbly, Noah Tudor’s face came into sharp focus. This time, it was in full color, making it even more lifelike. 

 

Yes, as if he were alive and moving…  

 

“The photo turned out well, didn’t it?”  

 

“Eek!”  

 

As Cordelia startled and tumbled back, Noah Tudor stood with his hands behind his back, silently observing her foolish display. It was the same gaze—coldly dismissive, almost like that of an observer—that she had felt that night. 

 

A monotonous, icy stare, yet laced with a drowsy, flickering interest.  

 

Like a feline predator.  

 

Swallowing hard, she alternated between staring at the newspaper photo and him. Then, with deliberate softness, he spoke.  

 

“I suppose we can skip the introductions.”  

 

Are you okay? His gentle voice was almost sweet. In truth, such gentlemanly manners suited his beautiful exterior and his numerous achievements perfectly, but they clashed starkly with Cordelia’s memories of him. 

 

Dazed, she nodded, and he muttered in satisfaction, “Good, then,” before elegantly taking a seat. Then, as if calling a dog, he flicked his fingers to draw her attention.  

 

“Shall we finish the conversation we left off last time?”  

 

“Um… was it you who saved me?”  

 

His eyebrow twitched.  

 

“I already took care of that vermin right in front of you. Don’t tell me the shock made you forget?”  

 

“N-no, that’s not it. I mean… are you really Noah Tudor?”  

 

Instead of answering, he let out a short sigh. That sigh carried pity—either for her trauma-addled brain or for her inability to grasp the situation despite everything. 

 

Unfortunately, having grown up enduring scorn, Cordelia instantly recognized the veiled mockery and irritation.  

 

She quickly asked again.  

 

“Did my father… borrow money from a place called Raven Bank?”  

 

“I don’t engage in illegal loan-sharking, Miss Marguerite.”

 

Despite the unsecured loan having murderous interest rates and the fact that they would stop at nothing to collect the money—making it no different from a loan shark’s operation—Noah didn’t seem particularly burdened by conscience. 

 

Then again, Cordelia belatedly realized that demanding repayment for her father’s debt from a woman who had just been assaulted was hardly in line with common decency.  

 

Whether she was stunned into silence or not, Noah Tudor pulled a document from his inner pocket and held it out.  

 

“Five thousand rubles in total. It’s a legal procedure, so feel free to verify. Not that there’s any chance my calculations are wrong.”  

 

The last remark came off as a bit brazen, but since he delivered it so matter-of-factly, it almost seemed justified.  

 

For a while, the only sound in the room was the rustling of paper being turned. 

 

Meanwhile, Noah Tudor, with an air of boredom, picked at the delicious fruits from the brunch tray a maid had brought in, like a bird selecting the choicest bits, before lifting his cup of tea to savor its aroma.  

 

As he sipped, his sunset-colored eyes fixed intently on the subject before him. 

 

Truthfully, it was just something to pass the time, but once his gaze settled, she was worth observing. 

 

The unfortunate young woman had skin as pale as a northerner’s, hair like lustrous mother-of-pearl—silvery and gleaming—and deep, slightly melancholic eyes of a mysterious jade-green hue.  

 

The southern sea was exactly that color. The shade of a bountiful ocean teeming with coral and fish cutting through the currents, yet strangely, her eyes held no vitality. 

 

Like a frozen ocean, or a lake trapped on land, unable to flow into the sea—utterly still and calm.  

 

A sea without waves.  

 

It was a fleeting impression, yet somehow it lingered in his mind.  

 

Eventually, Cordelia finished reviewing the documents, her face turning ashen. One thing became certain, her already short life had now been thoroughly ruined.  

 

Ah, well. Since it’s already ruined, I might as well set fire to Father’s room on my way out—- Hahaha.  

 

“Where are my belongings?”

 

Cordelia, who had been bowing her head, muttered something quietly. Noah, somehow catching that tiny voice, lifted the corner of his mouth.  

 

“Is there something there?”  

 

“Just… could you check for me? Are my belongings lost?”  

 

His gaze, which had been fixed on her small face—filled with a mix of stubborn anger, resignation, panic, and exhaustion despite all the injustices—drifted slowly toward her right cheek, where the swelling had subsided. It had been unpleasantly puffy, but her recovery didn’t seem bad.  

 

As he stared at the faint remaining bruise and lazily flicked his fingers, the secretary waiting outside brought in an old travel bag. Her anxious, flickering light-green eyes widened immediately upon spotting it.  

 

“Th-thank you.”  

 

Under his steady gaze, Cordelia hastily rummaged through the bag and pulled out a teddy bear, letting out a sigh of relief before bowing repeatedly. Noah muttered oddly,  

 

“I get more thanks for picking up a teddy bear than for saving a life.”  

 

His tone was unreadable—whether playful teasing or sarcasm. But Cordelia, too relieved to care, hugged the bear tightly and said,  

 

“It’s my mother’s keepsake.”  

 

And her only friend in her loneliness. She left the latter part unsaid, afraid of being mocked, and instead stared back at the crimson eyes fixed intently on her. 

 

Cordelia licked her lips, choosing her words carefully before speaking slowly.  

 

“First of all, I sincerely thank you for saving me. But…”  

 

Noah graciously tilted his head.  

 

“I’m truly sorry, but I don’t have the means to repay that money. Besides…”  

 

‘I’ll be dead soon anyway.’  

 

She swallowed the last words. 

 

A brief silence passed. Cordelia struggled to keep her head upright, resisting the urge to shrink under his unmoving gaze, stealing occasional glances to gauge his reaction.  

 

Then, gradually, she found herself mesmerized by his unreal beauty under the morning sunlight. 

 

His platinum hair, soft as if spun by a god’s loom, a refined forehead, brows as if painted, and deep amber-red eyes that seemed to carry the scent of roses—all gave him the delicate impression of an angel. 

 

Yet, his strong jawline, masculine Adam’s apple, and sensually curved lips were undeniably provocative.

 

It wasn’t just his appearance—the languid yet razor-sharp aura he exuded made it impossible for anyone sharing the same space to ignore him. Whether for better or worse.  

 

One thing was certain: in Cordelia’s wretched life, there had never been anyone as intensely striking as this man.  

 

“Did you inherit those eyes from your mother?”  

 

She blinked at the sudden question. 

 

When no immediate answer came, he kindly repeated himself, though the slight arch of his brow made it clear he disliked repeating things. She quickly answered with sincerity.  

 

“Yes. I’ve heard most of the maternal side of the family has similar ones. My grandfather too…”  

 

“An unusual color. Like the sea captured in glass. And your hair resembles pearls.”  

 

‘Pretty. A shade even paintings would struggle to capture.’  

 

Her skin prickled as his smooth voice showered her with praise. This wasn’t the time for such things, yet she felt strangely flustered. 

 

‘Ah, it’s all because of that face and voice…’

  

“I’d like to have them. How much for ownership of those eyeballs?”  

 

“Thank y—… What?”  

 

Her mouth hung open. He chuckled like a child, then said warmly,  

 

“Miss Cordelia, asking redundant questions makes you look dull and naive. Best not to.”  

 

“Ah, yes.”  

 

She instinctively bit back her thanks. Even Cordelia knew saying ‘thank you’ here would be admitting she was a fool.  

 

“So, by your own admission, the only thing left to you now is that pretty body of yours, correct? As a creditor, I ought to assess the value of my collateral, don’t you think?”  

 

With an aria-like smoothness, he effortlessly reduced Cordelia from a person to an object. 

 

Rude, but for him, this was polite. Having endured enough belittlement to grow numb, Cordelia felt no anger—only curiosity—as she tilted her head and met his narrowed crimson eyes.  

 

“Am I worth 5,000 rubles?”  

 

“Hmm. A bit pricey, but I *do* want those eyes.”  

 

He made no effort to hide his sincerity.  

 

Licking his dry lips with an eerie expression, Cordelia imagined eyeball specimens preserved in alcohol. 

 

Had it been anyone else, such words might have sounded romantic—but Noah Tudor’s greed was purely about possession. 

 

No one else could make such a chilling confession to a person’s face.